


Dirty Desire

by Savorysavery



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Aftercare, Bathroom Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Degradation, Dominant!Komaeda, Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Kissing, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Despair, Romance, Smut, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6535792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savorysavery/pseuds/Savorysavery





	Dirty Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [despairmom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=despairmom).



Update 4/13/16: There is now a vocal podfic of _Dirty Desire_  avaliable via my bandcamp **[here](https://spenceravery.bandcamp.com/track/podfic-dirty-desire-dangan-ronpa-2-hajime-hinata-komaeda-nagito)**. Please, feel free to download and take it with you on your device of choice: we all need some komahina smut on the go.

* * *

 

 

 **Summary:** It's the things we want deep in our heart that reveal the most about us.

 **Rated:** Explicit/NC-17

 **Genres:** Smut, Romance

 

 **Author's Note:** This piece is based off a prompt by tumblr user **[despairmom](despairmom.tumblr.com)**  which featured [Komaeda pushing the reader into the mud and being incredibly degrading to them](http://despairmom.tumblr.com/post/142680000931/hey-imagine-komaeda-stomping-on-your-head-shoving). Since I don't write "characterxreader" at all, I decided to go with Komahina. As a warning, this piece may be triggering to people: it's all consensual, has drop in the end, and very responsible aftercare, but for some, this situation -degradation and humiliation- may not sit well. That's perfect fine and understanding: this piece was something of a challenge for myself. If you do read and enjoy, thank you: it's you active readers that keep me encouraged and in good humor, enough to write more and more for you each day. I am constantly appreciative of your support as reader, and am so glad to provide you with more smut. Now, onto the fic.

* * *

 

There’s a pressure on your head, sure and steady, a dull, consistent thudding that has you nose deep in the backyard mud, a feeling that makes it hard to smell.

It's the pressure of a  **heel** , clad in a simple, clean shoe: a neat, brown boot, covering tight fitting dark wash jeans, the tops of which hint at creamy pale skin. From your vantage point, that slip of skin is elusive, shuddering in and out vision. It's precious, in some sort of way: a tether as you sink deeper and deeper into the gummy feeling of disappearing, into the earth. 

 _Dig, dig, dig_. Grinding into your cheek.

“God, you are absolute _filth_ , aren’t you? Ah, well, such is the case with you I suppose, _Hajime-chan_.” Komaeda Nagito is over you, tall and lanky, hair yanked back into a ponytail. He has the kind of smile that used to haunt you: all teeth, eyes narrowed, long nose sniffing haughtily at the air. It’s as if he **knows** he’s better then you, as if he can see that you’re just normal. There’s nothing **special** about you, other than a bit of higher level cunning and sleuthing. You’re **ultimately** just a boy, and barely at that: right now, you’re barely **human**. This is what happens though: under the waning sunlight of day, all is revealed, and so is the fact that you’re nothing but his **toy** , a plaything glowing in evening sunlight.

“Well, that’s alright. After all, you’re in your natural environment: resting in the mud, barely even _top soil_. Such is your nature, ne?” Nagito sighs, clucking his tongue. “Let’s get you home, eh?” He presses down on your cheek harder, shifting the weight to his heel, and you feel your face sink more and more, until there’s a bit of dirty filling up your right nostril, making it expand a bit painfully. It forces you to breath out through your mouth, tongue lolling out to taste at the warm, humid air.

You taste dirt, feel the grit of the Earth in your mouth and can’t help but grind down, hips canting into the cool earth, friction pulling your pants against you as you rut like a dog in heat. That strikes you now, that you’re nothing but an animal, and Komaeda Nagito will **tame you** , will put you back in your place.

“Hahaha…Look at you! You’re _filthy_ , Hajime- _chan_. A mess, just like your entire life!” He barks out another rough round of laughter and puts more pressure on your head, heel digging into your cheek at he drops his weight, shoving you deeper and deeper into the mud. You can’t help but moan: the pressure, the humiliation, all of this, feels so good, and it makes you squirm. There’s a pause, and you managed to move your hands, and tap twice: Nagito continues.

“Disgusting!” Nagito breaths, clapping his hands. “You’re _actually_ getting **off** to this, aren’t you, Hajime- _chan_?” He bites out the honorific, spits it like it’s the dirt you’re lying in, clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Let me see you rut, Hajime- _chan_. Let’s see the little piggie play!”

You obey, and start to move, hips shifting against the ground, hands braced in the mud. It’s jerks and spasms, to be honest: there’s no finesse to be had, no respect. You move against the ground, pant and moan, trying to get friction, trying to make him proud. You feel your lips twitch up into a smile, and a loud moan slips from between your teeth, rattling out as you feel yourself harden in full, pressing hard against the fly of your jeans.

When Nagito speaks, it begins with a gasp filled with **wonder** , a moan soft as a sigh passing over his pink, plump lips. You hear him chuckle low, dark, breath hissing in as he starts to speak. “Finally…” He begins, voice trailing off, dropping low. “Among the dirt, **_right_** where you **belong**.” The words are harsh, just the right balance of mean and curt, and they sound in your ear, over and over and over and over.

And that sends you **keening**.

You hump the Earth as your orgasm comes, a vicious tug on your navel that has you unwinding, spiraling out of control. You feel warmth pool between your legs as your come tacks to your clothes, nails digging into the wet Earth, clumping with dark brown mud. You can’t help yourself: you let out a sob of a moan, riding the ground until oversensitivity sets in and you feel **exhausted**.

For a moment, all is still, then Nagito shudders, and you catch the sound of skin on skin, wondering when his zipper hissed down, when he tugged himself free from his pants and out into the open air. It sets your mouth to water, makes you **hungry** for the mess he'll gift you with, because maybe, just maybe, you've done **well** and have been his **good boy** today, keeping up even when your body wants no more. “Look up,” he commands, and you scramble, shifting your head up right in time for him to shoot a load of warm semen on your face. It splashes your cheeks, tacks to your right brow, and has you shuddering all over again, dry orgasm tearing through you. The warmth fades, gums to your cheeks, but in your mind, it is a fire roaring across your summer freckled face, over the patches of dark mud caked on your cheeks, scalding your skin.

The pressure lets up and Nagito drops to a crouch, lifting you chin up to look to him. He tilts his head, smirks, then clucks his tongue. “Who do you _belong_ to, Hajime- _chan_? Who’s the only one who makes you **feel** like this?”

“Y…” Your voice won’t come, still gone from the orgasm sizzling in your belly, gobbled up by the maw of your lust.

“Louder!” Nagito yells, and it makes you wince, makes you bite your lip. “use your _outside voice_ , Hajime- _chan_. Surely, even _you_ can muster a half-assed effort. That was _paltry_ , Hajime- _chan_. Do better!”

Nagito rises back up and nudges you over onto your back, and you feel the cool mud, feel the sinking, **sucking** feelings, and whimper as his heel digs into your crotch, rubs over your half-hard erection. “Still hard?” he asks, then chuckles. “ _Disgusting_ all over again, ne, Hajime- _chan_?” His foot digs in hard, shoe rubbing you until it’s **painful** , and you keen, bucking up, and Nagito’s laugh swells into a roar that has him yelling. “Come on, _Hajime-chan_ , show me how **filthy** you _actually_ are!”

A third and final orgasm pulls at you, and it’s far from pleasant: it’s painful, a dry feeling that makes you choke on breath, makes your entire body feel like it’s on strings, yanked up in the center. It’s the worst feeling on Earth in that very moment, and you don’t want it to come but you can’t stop the reactions of your body, can’t stop the rush of warmth that sears you from inside out, and it brings from your mouth a broken noise, a squeak of defeat that makes you collapse in the mud, arms and legs sprawled out, clothes ruined.

Then, it’s over. You sigh, a wan, sleepy look on your face, and feel Nagito’s foot move from you, then hear the rustle of clothing.

“Hajime?” He uses your name, no honorifics, returning your balance as equals. For a moment, you’re dizzy, and have to process: Nagito was just another him, an _older_ him, or at least, he was playing at it well enough that you had trouble telling. It makes your head spin all over again, and you whimper, trying to shift towards him, but you’re cold suddenly, body temperature in flux, and can’t summon speech.

You try to croak out an answer, but your mind is a fog, and without hesitation, Nagito hauls you up and carries you inside to the couch, to a cup of warm tea and a blanket, a bowl of cool water and a washcloth. You sense him around you, sense him reaching out, and finally, your voice returns, eyes clearing a bit.

“Na…Na…gito…”

“Hajime, are you alright?” Nagito asks, holding you close. He’s crying, a mixture of slight panic and full bodied relief, breath coming in harsh, sharp pants. “Did I hurt you?

“N-No…” You manage, taping your fingers twice: it’s your signal for being okay, for him to continue touching you, and he does, holding you tight and pressing kisses to you. Surely, Nagito must love you because you’re on the **couch** right now, still caked in mud and absolutely filthy, and he never even lets you _eat_ here. It’s a supposedly sacred place, for only kisses, television, and occasionally -when he can stomach it- popcorn or pizza dinners. To let you rest here, on his favorite place, is a show of love and devotion so deep it makes you cry again.

The tears won’t stop, can’t stop, and you feel low, a sinking feeling that makes you feel dissociated from everything. You’re a babbling mess, you feel, all wetness and soft, whimpering sounds, and then, you feel the question in your gut bubble up: “Did you mean all that?”

“You know I don’t think that,” Nagito wheezes out. “Not anymore: you _fought_ against despair, and you helped me rise _from_ it. You, of all of us, _bested_ it. You may not be the Ultimate Hope, but your…. _my_ Ultimate Love, and that’s _more_ than enough.” He presses his nose to Hajime’s neck, sniffs in the warm, citrus scent of his boyfriend, and presses kisses to the tender skin there. “Perhaps… perhaps I used to feel negatively towards you, but I don’t anymore. I regret every I said that hurt you in the past.”

Your silent for a moment, then sniffle, nuzzling his shoulder and smearing a streak of black-brown mud on his shoulder. “Nagito.” He looks up at you, eyes red at the corners, and you smile, flashing teeth. “I know. You’re not the old you. I’m not the old me. We respect each other, right?”

“Right,” he whispers. “Right.” It’s more sure the second time.

“So then there’s nothing to feel sorry about. That situation… we were kids trying to play at god, and we fell hard. _Enoshima_ was a kid trying to play at god. We weren’t in our right minds. It doesn’t mean the things we said were _right_ , but…it doesn’t mean you were bad.” You kiss him, right on the tip of his sharp nose, and he flinches, blush spreading across his face. “So carry me upstairs to a bath: I look like a pig in mud!”

You feel better the moment you slip into the water, after Komaeda has rubbed you raw, stripped the mud from you and left you clean and pink again. He slides in minutes later, after he washes the mud down the drain and cleans himself. His hair is loose now, freed from its tail, long and wet, and his skin is a healthy pink: it makes you blush, makes you feel something stirring in between your shifting mood and feelings.

“Let me take care of you,” he says simply.

You let him move you, let him shift you, push you forward until your chin is resting on your knees. You feel a pressure on your lower back, and feel his thumbs dig in, and then your body relaxes into the massage, knots and tension sighing out your body. It’s _deeply_ relaxing, and a haze of arousal and sleepiness settles over you until your moans tucks themselves into the corner of the bathroom, echoing off the tiles.

“Stop,” you ask and Nagito’s hand move away, settling in his lap patiently, pensively. You shift, twisting around and settling so that you’re looking **at** him, cheeks hot and pink. “I…Can I ask something of you?”

“Always, Hajime. And don’t be formal: we’re not playing anymore. We’re just us. Just boyfriends, okay?”

You nod, and smile, looking down bashfully. “Could you… _take_ me?” The next words come hard. “I’m feling really lonely right now, and…” Your words break off, and you feel tears again, and are embarrassed that you’ve been moved so quickly to crying once more. Nagito gives you a moment, doesn’t touch you: he **waits** for you to initiate, for you to settle. “I just…I think I got hit hard tonight. It just feels so…” You motion with your hands. “Um…so, please?”

“Are you sure?” Nagito asks, voice tentative, quiet. “I won’t take advantage of you.”

Words fail you in this show of kindness, as they always do. This Nagito, this always trying Nagito, grips your heart so tightly in the moment, that all you find you can do smile, tilt your head, and tap your fingers twice, giggling softly when Nagito leans forward and pulls you close.

Your lips meet in a rough kiss, bruising and passionate, hard against your mouth. It distracts you from the burn of his fingers entering you, water the only lubricant he has on hand. The kiss deepens each time he pumps his fingers into your hole, stretching you and opening you up, until you feel that Nagito could perhaps gobble you down. And then his mouth is gone, and he’s sliding inside you, hands on your hip, pulling you down until your hips are flush together.

Water sloshes over the side with every thrust, with every cant of your hips, every roll of your body. You moan freely, press against him, arms slung over his shoulders, legs wrapped around his hips. You let Nagito haul you up and down, let him shift you until he’s hitting your prostate, until he has you screaming and crying out, begging for him to go faster, harder, to love you more and more.

Nagito comes inside of you **deep** , whimpers and mumbles out your name, a chant that echoes around the bathroom, mingling with your own whispers of Nagito’s name, and you come, sullying to soaking water with a spreading white that saps your energy. He catches you when you slump forward and after a moment, hauls you both out, rubbing you dry with a warm towel before carrying you to bed, kissing your cheeks and telling you how **proud** he is to be with you, to be **yours** too.

When you lay in bed later that night, nestled up on a futon, a hot water bottle at your feet, Nagito turns, grey-green eyes cutting through the dark. He raises his left hand, mechanical joints flexing as the knuckles drag over your cheek, down your neck, and come to rest over your heart, tapping out the rhythm of beeps, honey slow and steady. “What does it do for you?” he asks. “Does it…” he breaks off, and you hear the silent question: _Does it hint at that despair, at that gummy, black feeling of hopelessness? Are you reverting back, Hajime? Are you Izuru, or are you my boyfriend?_

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, a wan smile on your face. It makes you feel fulfilled in a way, takes away your dominance and allows you to, for once, be in the control of someone. It’s a willing feeling, a giving up of your control for that slip of a moment by your own hand. Perhaps, in its own way, it’s a sort of healing: you sort through your feelings, let go and give up by your own decision, and when you come out of it, when you rise up from the hot heat of degradation, you feel whole again, know that this is not permanent situation for you. After all, there’s always, ultimately, **hope** waiting for you at the end of a scene. You can always step out of **despair**.

It’s not permanent anymore at all, not a lifestyle you’ll ever indulge again.

You must have been mumbling that out, because Nagito’s eyes are wide with wonder, shining with admiration. “Hajime, that’s…hmm…” He pauses, worries his lower lip, then shifts, tossing the heavy comforter from the futon, hips seeking yours suddenly. You feel and immediate pressure, and are surprised that he’s hard again, so soon after such and intense moment in the bathroom, outside in the yard, and can’t help but chuckle: you’re both so **insatiable** , always hungry for the other. “That’s some _amazing_ **hope** ,” he settles on, voice light. You don’t hear the spiraling self-depreciation you once fear: you just hear a deep, sensual lust for you that’s return, a fire that has ignited in your boyfriend’s belly. “You’ll rival Naegi-san at this rate.”

“Will I?” you ask, pressing back against him, chuckling softly. “Do I have _that_ much hope?”

“You’re _brimming_ with it,” Nagito replies.

“Overflowing?”

“Soon, perhaps.”

“Are you…” you blush, but push through, smirking. “Full of Hope?”

“No, but you’ll be if you keep up at this, Hajime.”

“Oh,” you say, licking your lips. “So, what are we going to do?” you ask, brow quirked. You have your own feelings, but can tamp them down: after all, your body is still tired from earlier, still weary, and though it’s not incredibly late you still feel ready for bed ready to nod off with a fully belly and head.

“Shall I put you to sleep?” Nagito whispers in your ear, tongue dragging up the shell. His breath is a tingling hot puff of air that ripples over your body, raising goose pimples on your flesh. “Hmmm, Hajime?”

 _Tap, tap_ go your fingers against his cheek, a sly smile on your face.


End file.
